Toby Neighbors: Fierce Loyalty

His first challenge was to climb the stairs that led from his cabin up onto the deck of the ship. There was no handrail to lean against, and Offendorl was forced to crawl up the steps. He was queasy and out of breath by the time he reached the top, but he forced himself to keep moving. He didn’t want to appear weak.

The sunshine felt glorious and the fresh sea air invigorated him a little. It was enough to keep the elder wizard moving. He saw the canvas chair under an awning not far from the helm of the ship. The captain was standing near the ship’s wheel, his long, blue sea coat immaculate. Offendorl tried to steady his gait but the ship was plunging through the gentle swells like a galloping horse.

“Ah, you are getting your sea legs, I think,” said the captain.

“Yes,” Offendorl croaked, falling into the canvas chair. His voice sounded terrible, a combination of vomiting for several days and lack of use.

“I was afraid you would miss our glorious journey, my friend,” said the captain, approaching from his position by the helm. “We have been blessed with good winds, yes?”

Offendorl nodded. “I need better food and spirits. I cannot continue on the gruel and tepid water your men bring me.”

“I was under the impression that you were seasick,” the captain explained. “Rich food would be wasted on you, no?”

“No, I need food and drink to regain my strength.”

“Well, I will have food prepared, my friend.” Then, turning to one of the sailors, he said, “Hines, bring our guest a ration of grog.”

“Aye Captain,” the sailor said, hurrying away.

“What is grog?” Offendorl croaked.

“It is the fiery spirit of the sea, my friend,” the captain explained. “Maybe not as refined as what you are used to, but it is strong enough to cure or kill, if you take my meaning.”

“Fine, it will do,” Offendorl said, not relishing the idea of grog, but satisfied that he had made an improvement in his health and care on board the ship.

“I am wondering who it is you are running from,” the captain asked. “A man of your age and wealth should be surrounded by luxury, yes?”

“I’m not running,” Offendorl said. “I’m returning home.”

“As you say, my friend, but not many men who book their passage with gold carry no change of clothes, or goods of any kind. It is strange, no? You are obviously a man of importance. It is, as you say, curious.”

“Curiosity is dangerous,” Offendorl said. “Better to keep your mind occupied with matters of the sea.”

“I see,” the captain said, frowning. “Ah, here is your grog. It is best to drink it slowly. I would hate to see you fall ill again, my friend.”

There was nothing friendly in the look the captain had as he peered down in disgust at Offendorl. The elder wizard could read the young sea captain’s mind. He knew that he was an easy target. He had paid for passage on the ship with gold. The captain intended to find out if there was more, then throw the old man overboard. Offendorl had expected as much. In fact, he was surprised that the wily sailor hadn’t robbed him sooner, but now that he was out of his cabin, Offendorl expected that the tiny space had been thoroughly searched. The captain would know about the golden crown. It wouldn’t hurt Offendorl to lose it-he could easily make another once his strength had returned-but the sailors would almost certainly try to kill him while they were at sea. He knew he had to be on his guard and that meant he needed as much strength as possible.

The cup he held was a simple tin cup, almost full of a clear liquid. Offendorl knew that most sailing ships carried strong spirits on board, both for health reasons and because they simply couldn’t stock enough ale or wine to satisfy their sailors. Grog, as the captain had called it, was probably a mixture of spirits from different ports, all mingled together in shipboard oak barrels. He took a sip and had to fight the urge to spit the liquor out. It was very strong, almost so astringent he couldn’t swallow, but he forced himself to drink it. The grog burned its way down his throat and into his completely empty stomach.

Offendorl was used to drinking wine throughout the day, so alcohol in general didn’t affect his faculties greatly, but he was certain there was enough grog in his cup to get him very drunk. He guessed that was what the captain expected. Fortunately for the elder wizard, the grog strengthened his magical prowess almost immediately. He felt the burn in his stomach spread through his body like lapping waves of a warm ocean. He took another sip and grimaced, but swallowed the spirit down.

“And food?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, your supper is coming, my friend,” the captain said.

Offendorl had drunk half his cup of grog when the food arrived. The elder wizard was glad for the food, having decided that he had reached his limit of the strong liquor. He felt stronger, but also warm and relaxed. The motion of the ship, which had been an aggravation up until then, seemed completely natural. The food was roasted fowl with stewed vegetables and more of the ship’s stale biscuits.

After eating, Offendorl felt considerably better. The sun was setting low and the first stars were twinkling overhead. The captain had kept a sharp watch on the elder wizard all through the meal. Offendorl knew he would be expected to finish the grog and in an inebriated state give the sailors no fight when they came to toss him overboard.

He lifted a hand in the air and discretely tossed the grog overboard while sending a magical impression of himself drinking the liquor down quickly to the captain. For the first time since Offendorl sat down in the canvas chair, which was a simple piece of furniture made with a wooden frame, the captain smiled.

Offendorl closed his eyes let his magic flow through him. The hot wind of magic was as familiar to the wizard as his own hands. He could feel the captain and the sailors nearby, although he was extremely careful not to let his magical senses touch the water below them. He couldn’t read the minds of the men on board, but he could sense the malice in their hearts. It wouldn’t be long before they sprang into action, and Offendorl guessed he had just enough strength to fend off their attack. The master of the Torr despised weakness, but there was nothing more he could do. His body needed time to adjust and regain his former strength.

He opened his eyes and slowly rose from the canvas chair.

“I think I’ll call it a night, Captain,” he said.

“I hope you rest well, my friend,” said the sailor.

Offendorl kept his magical senses tuned to the men around him, and so he felt the two brutish sailors approaching from behind. He whirled around, moving much faster than anyone on board the ship could have guessed his ancient form could move. Both men had clubs, and with a wave of his hand Offendorl levitated the blunt weapons out of their hands, jerking the clubs high in the air. The sailors looked shocked, almost paralyzed with surprise at what had just occurred.

“Take him,” shouted the captain. “Throw him overboard!”

The two sailors started to move, but Offendorl clapped his hands and two waves of magical force slammed the big sailors’ heads together with so much force that the men dropped to the deck completely unconscious.

Offendorl looked toward the captain, who was standing with his mouth open in surprise, and then another sailor came running toward the elder wizard from the side. Offendorl waited until the last minute and then with a flourish sent the sailor flying through the air and over the railing of the ship. The sailor’s scream of panic was quickly cut off when he splashed into the water.

“Man overboard!” came shouts from all over the ship.